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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976940">Weathering pains</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern'>CravenWyvern</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [110]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Don't Starve (Video Game)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Complicated Relationships, Implied Seizures, Lightning strikes, M/M, headcanons galore</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 08:21:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,547</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28976940</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CravenWyvern/pseuds/CravenWyvern</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Maxwell/Wilson (Don't Starve)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>DS Extras [110]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/688443</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>35</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Weathering pains</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The sound of the rain atop the lean-to was long muffled over by the storm itself, rolling thunder and brief splashes of lightning out in the distance.</p><p>The spring air was still fairly cold, a crisp chill that hadn't quite gone sodden or too damp just yet. Every breath exhaled a soft cloud of fog, puffs of it dissipating underneath their shelter, and Maxwell looked out at the downpour and wondered when this storm would end.</p><p>This particular season had seemed rather light so far, a somewhat normal winter having preceded it, but the monsoon storms that had crested the mountains and overtaken a few of the coasts were growing in strength, and size. Even the giants who thrived within the rains huddled down for these storms, grand antlers raised high in the rain as massive wings drew down and covered newly hatched goslings.</p><p>Their pipping could be heard sometimes, when the rains eased up and their fluffy bodies toddled around grazing for insects and tasty growth.</p><p>The former Nightmare King gave them a wide berth whenever he had to venture close to the Moose Goose's nesting sites; the chicks were too curious for their own good, the mothers too protective, and he'd rather not have to tangle with a giant in the rain.</p><p> </p><p>A crack of thunder roared overhead, drew out and echoed through the trees, grand pines amplifying the sound as it reverberated through the air and sheets of rain, and Maxwell turned his gaze as the man at his side pressed closer against him with a shiver. The lean-to was holding up well, no leaks, the laid out hide sheet underneath them still dry, and the water poured off at an angle that saved them from having sodden ground, so the chill they both felt wasn't nearly as bad as it could be.</p><p>Then again, Wilson had no love for thunder and lightning.</p><p>The man was still asleep, thankfully; Maxwell whistled out a heaved sigh, a hint of strain as he shifted a bit and adjusted their positions to be more comfortable. </p><p>That last strike of lightning had really done a number on Wilson, and he did not wish to pile on more issues by waking him. The rain had thankfully taken away the smell, that scent of burnt hair and sizzling flesh, and the poultices and salves Maxwell had aided Wilson on putting on himself were doing their work, but the patches of bandage and frazzled, twisted pain frown on the man's face didn't set him well at ease. </p><p>...Wilsons hands had been shaking, his words slurred as he directed Maxwell on what to do, how to help, and the old man had already been exhausted by dragging Wilson to a nearby tree for cover, exhausted by the rounds of striking lightning that had dogged his steps, mocked him as he tried to not gag at the stench of frying human flesh, but in the end it hadn't turned as foul as it could've.</p><p>The other man hadn't fallen into a convulsive fit, not this time, though where the strike had entered and left him had burned his skin raw, his clothes charred with blackened stinking stains, but he had been able to talk, been able to recognize what to put where, and that had been enough.</p><p> </p><p>Maxwell's hands had shaken too, trembled from fatigue and stress and deep bone worry, repressed panic that choked his throat as he silently endured Wilsons stuttered instruction, his dizzy, half agonized attempts at cracking a joke, some pun or other that didn't make any sense but still made the injured man cackle out a rugged laugh. It was enough of a sign that he would be fine, it was all fine, but it had still strained Maxwell quite badly at the time.</p><p> </p><p>...Wilsons hair was still a bit tangled, static charge and wet clumped knots. Maxwell breathed in, out, foggy wisps from his mouth as the rain continued to pour, and he carefully half turned, adjusted the other man to lean against him more fully as his arm went around. His gloved hands, cold still, only a hint of a tremble in them now, brushed through locks of greasy, frazzled hair, the side of Wilson's head as he brushed a thumb against his cheek, the one not currently covered by a bandage that crept from top of head down throat and shoulder, chest, before Maxwell let his hand slide down and rest lightly by his partners hip.</p><p>This felt a bit better, as Wilson shifted, a half asleep huff of sound, hoarse from a dry, sore throat, before he nuzzled his face against Maxwell's chest once more, this time with a bit more finality. Dull claws brushed against his suit jacket, before clasping loosely to his clothing, and with that Wilson heaved a shuttered sigh.</p><p>More cloud vapors, rising in warmed breath, and Maxwell let his eyes close for a moment, listening to the rain, to the other man's quiet, somewhat strained breath. Calming down now, thankfully, and that helped drown out panic memory, the sounds, choked cries and gasps and wheezes, the horrible nature of watching electricity fry through a man and make his body undone.</p><p>It made Maxwell shiver, no matter how he fought it, and he tightened his hold, a light tug to keep Wilson pressed up against him. </p><p>As if it was any use, as if it would keep him safe, but the former Nightmare King opened his eyes, dark pitch black staring in a firm glower out through the sheets of rain.</p><p>Thunder rolled overhead, cracks of lightning that made his partner shiver each time, and Maxwell watched the storm as it raged on, waiting for when it would calm once more.</p><p> </p><p>**</p><p> </p><p>It took a moment, to realize he needed to breath.</p><p>A sharp gasp ripped through him, gagging on the air as it flooded his lungs, raw and shuddering as the world came crashing back in, and Wilson shivered in the mud, panting. His clothes were sodden from rain, everything a shuddering montage of smeared colors and sounds, a roar of thunderous noise above him before a snap of a shrieking explosion, reverberating in his ears, back and forth to rattle in his skull. Chill air sucked into his lungs as he heaved, as his gut twisted, and his hands were numb, skin blazing static as he shuddered, and it took all too long for him to realize he was under the sheltering branches of a pine tree.</p><p>Needles stuck up against his raw skin, poked through his clothes as mud smeared against him, the hard juts of roots poking to his back and side, and Wilson wiggled a weak, floppy hand for a moment, still staring up through the boughs of the tree and only hearing the encompassing roar of the storm overhead.</p><p>It took longer, to rock to his side. Everything was heavy, sliding, a rolling ache of lead in his limbs, dragging him down, dragging down his eyelids, and breathing was hard, slow, thinking was slow, the catch up of burning agonies still numbed over, half forgotten as Wilson tried to catch his thoughts into trains of thought, having been derailed by strikes of vaporizing lightning and shaky rail spiked foundations.</p><p>As he finally slipped over, mud and pine needles against his gasping chest, Wilson finally blinked his dry, sore eyes and saw the wavering lines of the rain pouring outside the trees half sheltering premise. The cold blips of rainwater that slipped through the branches and layering needles were sharp pricks to his raw skin, cold stains in his sticking clothes, and out there, in the thick rains and raging thunder and striking lightning, Wilson could see a tall, wavering silhouette standing in it all.</p><p>The thunder roared, a rolling wave punctuated with flashing shocks of electricity, and the figure roared back.</p><p> </p><p>His thoughts slid slow, sludge and iron and exhaustion, bone deep, marrow deep exhaustion, but Wilson squinted his blurry eyes and his mind was able to scrape, scramble up a pile of recognition.</p><p>Just enough that let him fall back, shudder in air and wheeze through pain and fatigue, darkness lapping at the edges as he stared at nothing but mud and needles, keeping steady. His limbs had gone soft under him, strength gone and replaced with weakened tremors, but every breath helped stabilize himself.</p><p>Vaguely Wilson recognized what happened, slowly putting two and two together as the Knowledge in his head started to awaken, knocked out of line from the weakness, the lead weights bearing down on him. </p><p><i>It's fine,</i> he told himself, each breath growing more measured, less gasped, <i>I'm fine.</i></p><p>At least he wasn't down in the full rage of the rain. He wouldn't put it past the storm to strike him more than once.</p><p>He's died to that, before. It hadn't been a pleasant death.</p><p> </p><p>Eventually the sloshing footsteps, mud and scattering rain downpour, gave him warning as Maxwell finally took shelter under the tree with him.</p><p>He only had to shift a bit, try to force his heavy arms to push himself up, before cold gloved hands had him by the shoulders, tugging him up into a more seated position. The old man was soaked to the bone, he could feel his hard shivers he was trying to hide, and Maxwell's face was twisted into a pained snarl, dark eyes drawn low and wrinkled expression focused entirely upon him. </p><p>No words were said, as Maxwell carefully guided him into leaning on the pines trunk, prickling needles and thick clay mud, and the scowl on the former Nightmare King's face only grew as Wilson shivered, eyes fluttering closed as exhaustion filled in over what little strength he had left.</p><p>For a few moments it was quiet, a hesitant air between them as the storm raged on. No more lightning struck, and the thunder was moving on, rolling deep bellows farther and farther away.</p><p>A hand on his shoulder gave him a brief squeeze, caution in the action, before Wilson squinted open his eyes for a moment and watched the former Nightmare King hunker down next to him, soaked through and looking rather miserable as he moved about stiffly. </p><p>Then he shut his eyes again, took in a measured breath, focused on the inhale, exhale, as exhaustion clawed its way through him, a sense of unease and disorientation as he grew heavier and heavier. Vaguely he recognized when Maxwell caught his slumping form, got him to lean and not fall back into the mud, but he was just ever so <i>tired.</i></p><p>"...Keep awake, pal, just for a little longer." Maxwell's voice was a droll sound, low and yet loud, muffled by the rain yet clear as glass, but Wilson could hear him well enough, head resting against the man's shoulder. "Once the storm lets up we'll head back to camp and get you fixed back up."</p><p>Wilson could only huff out a sluggish hum in answer, and everything was heavy and tired, yet even as his foggy thoughts started to drift he was jolted as Maxwell prodded him awake.</p><p>Cold gloved hands, sodden wet and damp, and they pressed atop his own hands, lightly tangled and then tugged at his claws, and the old man's suit smelled of humidity and dusty rain run off, the faint mist of stinking oily fuels, nightmares, and again his eyes fluttered open, vision smearing in an incomprehensible mess as the shivering tremors started up once more.</p><p>"...Just a little longer, Wilson." Murmured against him, warm breath to the side of his head, a strained exhale to his tangled muddy hair. "Stay awake for a little longer."</p><p>A squeeze to his hands, cold wet leather that made him blink a bit more aware in discomfort, and there was vague relief in the sigh against him, the shivers of the other mans cold, rain soaked form getting stronger now.</p><p>"Try to...give me warning, if you start to go under again."</p><p>That crept better through his head, instead of the mumbles of sound and agonized patience, and the understanding there made Wilson nod his head, bumping up against his partner as his balance swayed. His hands were not nearly as numb now, feeling crawling back, the pain now coming forward, he knew enough of electricity to understand those pains, inside out burning, cooking of the flesh, the vague flashing image of a tree split in half, charred black bark and torn asunder trunk, but-</p><p>But Maxwell's hands, cold and wet as they were, were solid, firm. His every rattling breath was uneven, seemed to stray and pause for all too long at times, as if forgetting the very act itself, but each time the old man drew in a deep inhale Wilson could hear it, feel it, and that was anchor enough to cling to. </p><p>That, and the slow oozing pains, the agony, the disgust as his sliding glassy gaze recognized charred clothing and skin sticking, peeled together, where strike had entered and departed through him, it was possible he had been hit more than once because this was starting to hurt quite a <i>lot-</i></p><p>Maxwell stayed still when he huddled low, blinking a few times and shuddering, as a crack of lightning shot through the sky a fair distance away, just enough to be hidden by the forest's tree line. </p><p>Later, when the storm let up and Maxwell helped him stand, a drag to his right leg, knee locked in a way he wouldn't be able to move for at least another few days, it would be much, much easier to handle the aftermath. Tea and rest and careful hands to help patch him up back at camp, old Wickerbottom soundly berating him on storm safety, checking on him consistently throughout the night.</p><p>Maxwell, keeping him quiet company after having dried thoroughly off by the fire. There wasn't much of a mask up by then, the guilt thick in the air every time he so much as glimpsed the bandaging or still raw scarring, but Wilson wouldn't mention it.</p><p>His memory could be flawed at the best of times, but he still remembered long past spring evenings, racing the sun as the storm pursued him, strikes nipping his heels before finally downing him into convulsing, agonizing death throes. </p><p>The Nightmare King would usually laugh then, watch intently, grinning all the while as Wilson died.</p><p> </p><p>Of course, when all was said and done, finally getting the go ahead from Wickerbottom that allowed him to head to bed and sleep, Wilson still made sure to squeeze the old man's arm, press his palm between those bony shoulder blades and mumble a quiet "Thank you". It wasn't Maxwell's fault he got struck by lightning, or that he suffered complications from surviving the strikes - just the Constant and its storms.</p><p> </p><p>For now, however, Wilson hid his face against the older mans shoulder, soggy fabric and humid slick oil scents, and tried to not let the storms mocking strikes of lightning and uncaring rolls of thunder shake him more than they already have.</p><p><i>I'm fine,</i> he thought to himself, twitching weak claws grasping to his partners sodden suit jacket, just for an even weaker hold,<i> it's okay now.</i></p><p>
  <i>I'll be okay.</i>
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